Nick Faldo won a most unusual Masters in a playoff Sunday by drilling a big putt on the second playoff hole after his antagonist, Scott Hoch, blew a tiny one on the first extra hole.
Don't put Hoch down too hard. The man made a gallant charge in the last round, held his ground, and took the new champ to extra holes before yielding. If he is remembered only for the short putt he missed at No. 10, the first playoff hole, justice will not be served.At the same time, put Nick Faldo up there as one of those English bulldogs who bites down and won't let go when the fight begins.
Faldo emerged, wet and beat and ecstatic, as the winner in a last-day free-for-all in which such marvels of the greens and greenery as Ben Crenshaw, Seve Ballesteros and Greg Norman all had a leading role and good chances to win, and steady sticker Hoch, Mike Reid and Jodie Mudd all were contending.
A good champion is Nicholas Alexander Faldo of Surrey, England. He has guts and a great golf game and a killer instinct that stuck out of him like a fistful of porcupine's quills on this last wacky Sunday of one of the world's most important (well, as important as golf competition can be) tournaments.
The sun came out in the morning and clouds came along in the afternoon. Rain splashed in varying intensity all over the Masters the rest of the day. When Faldo and Hoch finished their duel, there was barely a minute of light left in the day - just enough for Faldo, who was in the group of 14 players who were responsible for completing their Saturday rounds Sunday morning. Rain had dictated this circumstance.
Nick said that he expected to finish that round 2 under par because the course was so cooperative. But, starting on the 13th hole, he botched it up and instead he finished 2 over. Bummed out, he went back the to his quarters and sat there, frowning and looking at the wall. "Then I said, `Hey, I'm still in it. This is a tough tournament to win from the front. Ninety percent come from the rear to win the Masters," the champ said later, in that sharp, pleasing accent.
So he went out in a positive frame of mind in the afternoon, and won the wonderful thing.
"Words can't describe how I feel at this moment," Faldo said later. "I've seen other guys do it, but to do it yourself . . . well, it's a tough feeling to handle. You stand over a putt with the world looking at you and . . . the feeling I have now is pure ecstasy."
Putting aside the enemy weather, this Masters was like most Masters. Now and again you will get a Ray Floyd bringing in a miracle game and going wire to wire as he did in 1976. But usually, it is a tight test of stare-down. Augusta is the OK Corral of golf, with pretty flowers and beautiful women all over the lot.
When the weather is nasty, it makes things more complicated, but basically, you can usually count on the best man, (at this moment), winning. This year it was not Ben Crenshaw. OK. Ben understands. He's been around. If anybody gets Augusta National's drift, Ben does.
Except for Jack Nicklaus, Crenshaw is the most popular golfer with the Masters' crowd year after year. In bygone days, one Bunky Henry toured the pro circuit. He was talented enough to stay on the tour but Henry's golf successes were hardly visible. That didn't matter when Masters time came each year. Bunky was always a hit at least until the field was trimmed at the halfway point. "How's ol' Bunky doin'?" was the most frequently asked question around the course. See, Bunky was home grown, an Augusta native, curly haired, likable and the sentimental favorite every time (though not a heavy betting favorite).
Another native, Larry Mize, who makes his home over yonder in Columbus, Ga., won in 1987. So he got, still gets, good treatment here.
But because he passionately loves Augusta and reveres the game of golf, Ben Crenshaw is in turn himself embraced by patrons of the Masters.
Ben was in it, again, to the end this year. The last mean hole, which he bogeyed. But actually, he lost the tournament Sunday morning before the final round began. The contingent of golfers which ventured forth to complete rounds washed out by heavy rain Saturday found they had the golf course at their mercy. It never played easier. That's why Faldo was initially upset that he hadn't burned the place down with his stick in the morning. Crenshaw felt the same way.
"But I didn't take advantage of the good conditions," Crenshaw said. "I missed holeable putts at Numbers 14 and 15, and then hit a poor drive on 18 and bogied. When it's soft and quiet (meaning no wind) here, you want to take advantage."
He had good things to say about Scott Hoch, when he finished describing his own frustrations. That was gracious. And fair. The veteran from Texas is a good judge besides being one of golf's most able and classy representatives. Scott Hoch deserves something better than what he will get and Crenshaw knew it.
But Nick Alexander Faldo won the day and while he was at it, reminded me (because of his middle name) of an old bit of kid's poetry my father used to recite when I needed reminding that greatness comes from within:
"How tall was Alexander, Pop?,
"The People called him great,
"Was he so tall that he could lift a stone of hundredweight?
"Oh, no my child, about as tall,
"As I or Uncle James,
"T'was not stature made him great, "T'was the greatness of his name."
When speaking of Nick Faldo and the 1989 Masters, all you do with that little ditty is change the last word to "game."